


When I am Older and Wise

by Zimra



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When young Finarfin's resemblance to their mother is used to insult him, Fingolfin cheers him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I am Older and Wise

Nolofinwë chased his little brother through the wide hallways of the palace, deliberately running slowly so that he would not catch Arafinwë immediately. He could hear the child laughing as he hurtled around a corner and out of sight. Suddenly the laughter stopped, and Nolofinwë quickened his pace.

“Ingo?” he called, then stopped short as he rounded the corner. Arafinwë stood very still, staring at the tall, dark-haired man he had collided with a moment ago. Fëanáro looked even more disgruntled than usual, and was busy picking up the books that lay scattered on the floor of the corridor.

Nolofinwë’s good mood evaporated. _Why didn’t anybody tell me he was here?_ But he stood up very straight and fixed a look of determined politeness on his face. Placing his hands protectively on Arafinwë’s shoulders, he said, “Welcome back to Tirion, Fëanáro. I did not know you were arriving.”

Fëanáro barely glanced at him as he finished retrieving his books and stood up. “You should know better by now than to run indoors,” he said, glaring at Arafinwë. “Particularly if you plan on rushing around corners without looking. You’re lucky I was not carrying anything breakable, like last time.” 

“I’m very sorry,” Arafinwë said, fidgeting uncomfortably under Fëanáro’s sharp gaze. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

“That is exactly what you told me last time, Arafinwë. Making the same mistake twice is a mark of carelessness, and will not get you anywhere in life,” said Fëanáro sternly. “I suppose you can’t help _looking_ like a Vanya, but you really must try harder not to _act_ like one.”

Arafinwë looked down at this feet, his lip trembling as he fought to keep from bursting into tears in front of their older brother. 

Seeing his brother’s distress, Nolofinwë gave the first excuse that came to mind. “Go on without me, Arafinwë, and get ready for lessons,” he ordered. “I’ll join you soon.”

Arafinwë nodded, then turned and scurried out of the room as quickly as he could. Nolofinwë made sure he was gone before rounding on his half-brother, fists clenched to suppress the impulse to hit him; it would only get Nolofinwë into trouble, and Fëanáro was much taller and stronger than he was.

“Why did you have to say that?” he burst out. “He gets enough of that sort of thing from other children; he doesn’t need to hear it from you, too!” And he stormed off after Arafinwë before Fëanáro had time to respond. 

As his anger faded somewhat, Nolofinwë wondered whether Fëanáro was likely to tell anyone about his outburst. He decided that he probably wasn’t; Fëanáro hated talking to Mother, after all, and would probably consider the matter too trivial to bring to Father. Convinced, Nolofinwë felt relieved. His mother would be very disappointed in him if she knew what he had said, although her scolding would surely be accompanied by a flash of gratitude in her eyes, letting him know that she was secretly proud of him for defending his little brother. Still, he found himself wondering what his mother would do in this situation.

The sound of crying led him to Arafinwë’s room, where his younger brother sat on the bed, clutching the pillow embroidered with fish that Findis had made for him last year. Nolofinwë sat down beside him.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice calm only with great effort as the anger rose up inside him again. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t listen to Fëanáro. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

“But - but what if he’s right?” Arafinwë stammered in between sobs. “What if I never amount to anything? What if I’m just useless?”

“You’re not! _He’s_ the useless one,” Nolofinwë said savagely. He knew it was a poor response - Fëanáro was an extraordinarily productive member of society, or so people were always telling them - but he was too upset to think of anything else. 

At least it distracted Arafinwë, whose sobs began to lapse into sniffles. 

“But everyone says Fëanáro’s the smartest person alive,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “He knows everything.”

“That’s not true,” Nolofinwë said. He grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “Look at me, Arafinwë,” he said. “You know all the words and melodies to Mother’s favorite Vanyarin songs, right?” Arafinwë nodded. “Does Fëanáro?”

“No,” Arafinwë answered, though he still looked doubtful.

“Of course he doesn’t.” Gaining confidence now, Nolofinwë continued, “And who knew exactly what to give Findis on her begetting day? Whose gift was her favorite?”

“Mine,” said Arafinwë, a distinct note of pride in his voice this time. “I knew she’d like it.”

“And what did Fëanáro give her?” Nolofinwë prompted.

“Nothing. He wasn’t there. Father said he was up in the north again.”

“Exactly. Fëanáro might know more than you do, but he’s supposed to; he’s a lot older than you are. But Fëanáro doesn’t know everything, he only thinks he does. You still have things to learn, and you know it. That makes you smarter than him.” Nolofinwë wasn’t at all sure that this made sense, but he hoped his brother would buy it.

“Really?” Arafinwë asked, sounding almost convinced. 

“Really,” Nolofinwë said firmly. “And even if you weren’t smarter, you’d still be a better brother. Even if you did steal my good writing paper to make paper boats.” He grinned, and elbowed his little brother gently. “I’m sure Findis and Lalwen would agree with me.” This part he _was_ sure of.

Arafinwë actually smiled at that. On an impulse, Nolofinwë hugged him fiercely, wishing that by doing so he could shield his brother from harm for the rest of his life. _When I’m older, Fëanáro will never say anything to upset him; he won’t dare._

“Don’t ever change, alright?” he murmured. “I don’t care what he says. Be as Vanyarin or as Noldorin as you want, just don’t be like him. This family needs _you_ , Ingalaurë.”

As Arafinwë carefully straightened his fish pillow and placed it back on the bed, Nolofinwë got up and walked over to the desk. “Here,” he said, picking up one of the sheets of paper. “Teach me how to make a boat.”

Arafinwë hopped down from the bed and hurried over, eager to impress his older brother with his new favorite hobby. “Like this,” he said, taking the paper and beginning to fold it carefully. Nolofinwë watched attentively, smiling as his brother returned to his usual state of cheerful enthusiasm, and thought that for this, his mother would be proud of him.


End file.
